


Weakness

by Nievia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kisses, Longing, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, Reaper gets thrown back in time, Reaper76 - Freeform, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Time Travel, Young Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, poor gabe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10362732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nievia/pseuds/Nievia
Summary: Reaper is thrown back in time, where he finds himself torn between killing Strike-Commander Jack Morrison or kissing him senseless.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I finally am posting something after what feels like a million years!  
> I'm so excited for this fanfiction. I actually wrote it based on some [fan art](http://rweon.tumblr.com/post/158451265885/infinite-atmosphere-some-vague-thoughts-of-time) I found by [infinite-atmosphere](http://infinite-atmosphere.tumblr.com/) (I love them very much, they're one of my favorites, honestly).  
> Anyways, I hope you like this one. I have been feeling a bit stagnant in my writing lately -- especially since I just finished writing this huge screenplay that I will actually be publishing in about three weeks and am a bit dried out from that, honestly.  
> Nonetheless, here is some Reaper76 to make you feel comfortable (and probably really gay).

Reaper didn’t know how he had managed to go back in time, but there he was. He had been yanked out of a mission -- simple reconnaissance with some underlings of Talon -- and dropped directly in the middle of familiar quarters in Gibraltar. The rooms, of course, belonged to none other than Jack Morrison and for a long moment all he could do was stand there and take everything in. The bed was immaculate, blankets tucked crisp and tight, there was a glass of water and a bottle of pills on the nightstand (Jack’s sleep aids, no doubt), and everything was how it had been ten years prior to the day Overwatch fell in Switzerland.

Reaper realized, standing among his ex-lover’s things, that he had an odd lack of worry, but dismissed it as simply being too shocked to register that he had been tossed through the space-time-continuum and landed right in the Strike-Commander’s lap. _I shouldn’t be here,_ he thought, eyes flicking to the open closet filled with Jack’s cleaned and pressed uniforms -- a sea of blue leather and combat boots. He had vague memories of storing his own clothes in there once they began practically living together.

So engrossed by his own past, Reaper didn’t hear anyone approach until the door to Jack’s room clicked open and the Strike-Commander himself entered. The temporary calm (or was it shock?) dissipated, and Reaper understood that, for all the nights he had spent in this very same room as Gabriel Reyes, he had never felt this skin-crawling sensation. It was something akin to madness lingering in the back of his mind, corrupting something already twisted and broken beyond repair.

Jack was the same as Reaper recalled. Ruffled blonde hair, exhausted blue eyes, thick muscles from years of the military and later the Soldier Enhancement Program, and so very handsome. Jack had already taken his blue coat off and draped it over one arm, leaving him in only the tight fitting black shirt he wore beneath and the gun holster he kept on his upper half at all times.

Their eyes met.

Jack froze.

Reaper stared.

_I could kill him,_ Reaper thought. _I could stop Switzerland from ever happening._ His hands twitched, longing to grab the shotguns within his coat and fire round after round into the man who had ruined his life. But he hesitated, flashes of stolen kisses, shared looks, and inappropriate actions in even more inappropriate places drifting back as intangible memories.

Reaper’s pause was all Jack needed to pounce on him, dropping him to the ground and scrambling to pin him down. Reaper snarled, reached up with wicked metal claws before they were knocked away by freckled hands. He felt the tip of one finger sink into flesh, cutting it as the two men struggled on the floor. Jack hissed, hand jerking back out of reflex, and Reaper saw his chance. He let his body disassemble itself, cells degenerating into thick black mist and surrounding the Strike-Commander.

Jack’s eyes went wide and he shouted in surprise as Reaper rematerialized and pinned him down to the floor instead. The sharp metal on his gloves cut into Jack’s wrists when he thrashed, kicked, and spat at his attacker. Reaper stayed still through it all, staring down at the blue-eyed man beneath him.

Jack panted, face flushed, and gave one more futile attempt to kick Reaper off. “Who the hell are you?” He demanded. “What do you want? You won’t get shit from me!”

Reaper’s hold tightened around Jack’s wrists for a long, tense moment. “We are not supposed to meet like this,” he said. He let go of the Strike-Commander completely and stood up, making sure to put some distance between them. “I shouldn’t be here,” he repeated, taking another step back. That feeling returned, horrible and dark, curling just under his decaying flesh. “I really shouldn’t--”

Jack was up before Reaper even knew he moved, delivering a punch so hard that Reaper toppled to the floor, the world turning hazy gray before disappearing altogether.

* * *

 

When he woke up. Reaper was surprised to find that he was still in Jack’s room, though he was now tied up with his hands behind his back. He wondered if the Strike-Commander knew how easily he could escape bonds such as these, and then realized he wouldn’t, considering Reaper shouldn’t even exist yet. _You got thrown back in time, remember?_ He thought to himself.

Jack sat across from him on the floor, his back against the foot of the bed, holding the ivory owl mask in his hands. A frown marred his face (which, Reaper noted, had yet to earn any significant scars) as he rubbed a thumb along the edge of the mask.

Reaper tensed in his confines, clenching his fists behind his back upon realizing that his face was bare. “I would like that back, _gringo._ ” He growled.

Jolting, the Strike-Commander’s head jerked up to stare at the man in front of him. Reaper watched Jack’s eyes flick across his features, not knowing where to look first. The decayed flesh where his lips used to be or the intense scarring and sores leaking black mist? For a moment, Reaper thought he saw pity.

“What happened to you?” Jack asked, voice low.

Reaper scowled, “You mean you don’t recognize me?” He taunted. mostly to hide the fact that he felt increasing discomfort from the exposure of his monstrous face. “I guess you wouldn’t. I technically shouldn’t even _be_ here.”

“I--” Jack paused to take a deep breath. “I know who you are, Gabe, I just don’t know…” he trailed off. “You certainly look different than the Gabe I know currently,”

Reaper shifted and stretched his legs out in front of him. He could feel Jack’s eyes on him -- _judging_ him. He wondered how such beautiful eyes could stand looking at him for so long. “Not exactly a pretty face anymore, huh?”

Jack swallowed, looked down at the mask, and then back up, like he didn’t know what to say or how to explain himself. He frowned at Reaper.

“Look, I’m just as in the dark as you are,” the wraith said. “One second I was on a mission, the next I was here,”

“You looked like you wanted to kill me when I first walked in,”

Reaper scoffed, “That’s because I did want to kill you, _cabrón,_ ”

Jack blanched, and Reaper couldn’t help but think he looked cute like that. Lips parted, eyelashes fluttering against freckled cheeks, and chest heaving with breathe -- life.

_He’s still so young,_ Reaper thought. _Have we even gotten together yet in this timeline?_

And then Jack laughed, shoulders dropping as he relaxed. “Yeah,” he said, matter of fact, “You’re definitely Gabriel, all right.” He scooted over to Reaper’s side and untied the rope around his wrists.

“I just told you I wanted to kill you and you _let me go?_ ”

Jack put his hands on his hips, leaning back to give Reaper an indignant look. “I had to make sure it was actually you! Besides, only _you_ would be that blunt or that stupid to say you wanted to kill me to my face,” he replied.

Reaper rubbed his wrists and looked down, considering his words. “I’ll take that mask back, now,” he said, instead of actually replying.

Jack handed it to him without question and soon enough the two men found themselves sitting on Jack’s bed side-by-side, Reaper telling him all about how he ended up lost in time.

“Gabriel?”

“Yeah?”

“What happens to you in the future to make you…?” He trailed off.

“Ugly?” Reaper spat.

Jack looked at him, surprised, “You’re not ugly!” He insisted.

Reaper rolled his eyes behind the mask, “Whatever,”

“I mean it. Even like this, I still think you’re the most handsome guy I’ve ever met,”

Gabriel swallowed a lump forming in his throat and stared down at his lap. Jack touched the side of his mask and tentatively cupped his chin to make Reaper face him. His hands were warm, familiar even after years of Reaper having been touched by them. He found himself mesmerized by Jack’s eyes when they met. Shades of blue -- oceanic, atmospheric, the tip of a blue flame -- blurred within his irises.

Reaper slid his arm around Jack’s waist and held him close. Reaper pressed the side of his mask against Jack’s reddening cheek, “Look’s like…” he paused to breathe in the scent of sweat, leather, and pulse munitions. “I have a weakness for pretty blue eyes,”

Jack’s pupils dilated, cheeks dusting a rosy pink before he laughed. He leaned against Reaper’s chest, hands reaching up to take off the other man’s mask. Protests were cut short when the Strike-Commander cupped the back of Reaper’s head through the hood he wore and pulled him closer. Their lips connected. All Reaper could think about was how Jack’s mouth tasted like citrus and how soft he was, even after so much war and conflict. When they pulled away, he missed the bittersweet tang of his lover’s lips.

Jack smiled while Reaper reeled from their kiss. “And It looks like I have a weakness for dark and edgy, as well.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Translations*  
> Gringo - (typically derogatory, but I may be wrong) white English-speakers, typically Americans  
> Cabrón - bastard
> 
> Want to send a prompt? Want to support your local fanfic author? Go to my [tumblr](http://nievia-writes.tumblr.com) and hit me up! <3


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